Secrets
by janeeceputric
Summary: "Unrevealed information being kept from others. In certain cases, to protect oneself. Hidden, covered, problems buried deep inside your soul. Fear of rejection, consequences, circumstances. Try to forget, push it all away, and move on." A story of three teens and their struggle to contain life threatening secrets. Inspired by Ellen Hopkins Impulse. R
1. Abigail

**A/N: So I'm back! This is something I've been working on for a while so the writing will improve ridiculously as you read on. And trust me, you definitely should! Even if you're doubting the first couple chapters, just bare with me! I write in free verse (obviously), it's not my overall writing style but it's something I enjoy and is heavily influenced/inspired by Ellen Hopkins! If you don't know who she is you should definitely read all of her books, they're phenomenal. Okay so I'm not going to write a novel before you get to my novel but fanfiction likes to take my original formatting from my word documents and totally fuck with it. If the formatting gets boring and uninteresting, I can promise you, it wasn't originally written that way. But the content is just as important so I thought people are intelligent enough to look past the bland sequence of lines and enjoy the story as it is. R&R! Feel free to message me about anything.**

**Constructive criticism is appreciated, but this isn't a hate site. **

**-xoxo gossip girl **

* * *

**September 19th, 2012**

Abigail.

**Secrecy.**

The words that cannot be expressed.

The thoughts that must be secluded.

Kept hidden, from alien knowledge or view.

Concealed deep down in the pit of the brain.

Beyond all ordinary understanding.

Containing information to share with

only those of which you choose.

A deep secret;

a burden on your chest,

a tragic incident, a mistake.

Unrevealed information being kept from others.

In certain cases, to protect oneself.

Hidden, covered, problems buried deep inside your soul.

Fear.

Of rejection, consequences, circumstances.

Try to forget, push it all away,

**and move on.**

**Conflicted**

We slowly force ourselves  
to forget, let go. Put the  
unsaid words in our pockets,  
pushing them further down,

into the ground.

Deep into the core of  
the earth where we hope  
they will crash and burn.

But they don't,

it's an illusion

that we helplessly create for  
ourselves. You are left with  
that weight on your shoulders, that  
whispering voice of pain in your ears.

Trapped inside your own head,

you are left to sustain the  
pressure. We shove this unsettling  
paper scratched with these words  
into the back of our brains.

Again,

we are left, and barricaded

Alone and isolated,

deep within ourselves.


	2. Emily

**September 19th, 2011**

Emily.

**Written,**

Ever so neatly on a

piece of paper somewhere,

are the secrets of mankind.

Silently tucked away,

waiting.

For someone to be

brave enough to open it,

repair the tattered edges.

De-code the smeared ink.

Read.

Slowly, yet surely,

belt out the unknown knowledge

to others, release all

burdens and dark clouds

hanging over heads.

Maybe then

we would all be

truly happy.

Happiness is vital.

It gives all things life.

It provides faith

and hope,

to carry on, strive,

achieve and succeed.

I had happiness,

but I knew that it

wouldn't last long.

The thing would get stronger,

like the first time,

I'd be fighting to keep my place,

and it would strike once again.

**Pace.**

Body language is key.

I keep my chin held high,

steady my breathing,

stepping in time with

the calm figure beside me.

I make no direct eye

contact with others,

not that I need to. No

one pays me much attention.

I glance to the nurse's face

several times, measuring

her facial expression,

trying to read some

emotion off of the mask.

She has painted on a smile

and it isn't going to fade anytime soon.

This frustrates me,

everything seems

too perfect here.

I need to find a flaw,

A fault.

Something to

complain about

Why?

It certainly won't get me out.

I can tell there is plenty

of happiness to go around.

Synthetic happiness,

in the shape of a little white tablet.

Chalky and bitter.

I'll have my fair

share of it soon enough.

I wish they made banana flavor…

The taste of acid is

on my tongue,

as anxiety courses

through every part of me.

I miss home; I miss my bed,

my uniform, my friend(s)…

I wince quietly,

but not quiet enough.

The nurse watches me from

the corner of her eye,

as my fake façade breaks

down, I loose focus. My chin

has dropped, my feet stop

moving and my hands are

on either side of my head.

I am in a low crouch,

my knees buckling under me.

I hyperventilate.

An air bubble is

tight in my throat.

I CAN'T BREATHE.

My diaphragm quickly

builds up pressure,

causing an intense amount

of air to rip up my throat and

clear the air bubble.

I realize my hands were

on the side of my ears then,

because in that split second,

I have began to scream.

**I sit,**

I literally drop myself to the floor.

In exhaustion,

in defeat.

I will surely be tossed into a padded  
room and locked up now.

I stop screaming.

I cradle my head in my hands,

my knees pushed tight up against my chest.

I feel a pair of strong arms slither

their way across my shoulders,  
and another onto the small of my back.

Two more arms gently hook their way  
across the back of my knees.

I feel myself lifted up and away  
from the cool, comforting tiled floor.

I am set down onto a thin, bumpy  
mattress, and stretched out.

I lay still as I hear the  
screeching wheels turn,

And I am driven towards my prison cell.

**It creeps up on me.**

Probing at my inner thoughts  
and memories from my most  
recent idiotic performance.

It begins stalking me,  
making me feel defective,

anon-_short for anonymous_-will never stop.

It is hell-bent, intent on getting a  
loathing reaction from me.

Satisfaction.

It's words bubble inside my brain;  
I can feel the upheaval of it's  
presence, as normality  
becomes scarce.

It is my sculptor, and I am the  
masterpiece, being shaped,  
molded and changed.

Manipulated, to anon's advantages.

I feel like I am wading  
waist deep in pain.

An invincible hostile gush of

unsettling words, buzzing  
around in my head.

A cave of red, blurry red  
rubies, pulsing brightly.

My vision goes hazy and the  
room becomes one giant shadow.

Anon creates a white noise, crisp  
and clear, in that useless,  
vacant space between my ears.

Slithering throughout every fiber  
of me, groping every inch, follicle.

Everything seems to sway  
in gray, frenzied motion.

I bite back on my tongue  
and the need the scream.

Suddenly, the feeling of being under lockdown is lifted.

Something has cast a veil.

Lacy ribbons woven  
throughout my brain, like a tapestry.

Chasing down 'bad' thoughts,  
and startling anon.

I slowly rise out of  
the blurry red cave;  
it melts around my body and skin.

Allowing me to drift upwards,

wading now midthigh.

The luscious feeling  
of being in control.

Blurriness ebbing.

The shrieking and howling of the  
white noise seems to stall to a hush.

A gentle flow of whispers,  
barely audible.

Warped voices, only heard

when searched for.

Coincidently -and to my luck  
despite my recent episodes-,

just as I get myself together  
and recover from the fresh  
wounds of a brutal takedown,

a big, bouncing ball of white cloth  
and red curls, barges through my door.

_First level, no privacy._

Her big booming voice causes me to  
cringe, her face wrinkles up in confusion.

_Oh! I'm so sorry my dear. I am Paige  
Russell; I'm going to be your nurse_

_. Unpack your things; Dr. Alcona wants to see you. _

She flashes me a set of big, white  
crooked teeth, twisted into  
an eerily excited smile.

A sense of clarity washes over me,

That act that I had performed  
for all the crazies and the nurses,

Well here, that is,

_**Normal. **_


	3. Tyler

**September 19th, 2012**

Tyler.

**These things just happen, **

You act on an impulse.

Thinking about what's going to keep you

out of trouble right there and now.

Not future consequences,

or if anyone finds out _later._

No, you have to think about the present.

Sometimes you end up doing something stupid.

Something you'd never do,

something unethical.

But it doesn't seem nearly half

as bad as it really is at the time.

The adrenaline racing through your veins,

Sweat beading on your brow,

_Anything_ that'll keep you out of trouble

seems perfectly acceptable at that point in time.

But once you sit down,

And think about what you've truly done.

Problems begin to arise.

Especially when more

than one person is involved.

Lies become inevitable.

People get upset; slowly turn against

each other, to save their own ass.

But this is why secrets are in existence.

You all agree to keep it to yourselves,

And pretend it never happened.

But that doesn't always work,

You begin to become afflicted

with memories, painful thoughts.

You covertly keep things to yourself,

Until that ball gets bigger and bigger

and you hurt so much, you might explode.

Well, I didn't know that feeling at the time.

But if I had, or if I had known

it was coming, I would have prepared

myself for the worst of suffering.

**It was one of those too normal days.**

Mum was nagging as always.

Pop's was sitting at the polished oak

kitchen table, fresh newspaper

in hand, steaming coffee.

My stupid sister ranting about

_another_ pair of shoes she just _had _to have.

I turned on the shower,

still half asleep.

After I had finished getting dressed

and ready, I grabbed my car keys,

wallet and backpack. I raced down the

stairs, grabbed an apple and kissed mum

on the cheek.

_Don't be home too late._

I nodded, pulled my Nike 6.0's

on and pushed the door open;

the wind slammed it shut behind me.

I squinted towards the driveway;

the wind was yelling in my ear

and blowing my hair around.

I jogged towards my silver

Honda civic, floundering.

I finally reached it and threw

the door open, tossed

everything – including myself – inside.

I jammed my keys into ignition

and backed out of the driveway.

I drove, probably over the

speed limit, towards Emily's house.

I was anxious for no reason,

wanting to get to school. Shocker.

I pulled up at the familiar bungalow,

4 blocks from my 5 story house.

I honked my horn a few times, glancing

at the clock. 8:30.

15 minutes.

No one was coming out; I fumbled my

fingers around my sweater until my

hand closed around my leather case.

I pulled it out of its sleeve and glanced at the screen.

No new texts, no missed calls.

Weird.

I unlocked it with the 4 key password,

and dialed in Emily's cell phone number.

It went directly to voicemail and

I hung up, calling the house.

It only rang once,

_Hello?_

'Hi, Ms. Rylee? It's Tyler.

Is Emily there? I'm outside.'

_Oh… No, Tyler. She said she _

_was going in early for an assignment. _

'Oh, right. '

_Yes, she was a bit upset when you _

_weren't here. I think she ended up walking. _

'Okay, well thanks.'

_Goodbye dear._

'Bye.'

I pressed the end call button and

slipped it back into my pocket.

Damn. I cursed under my

breath. I had totally forgotten.

I backed out and onto the

road, started driving to school.

My stomach was pierced

with guilt, I felt sick.

I had promised Emily I'd be there

at 7:45 to drive her to school.

Boy, I was going to get it at school..

**I didn't get _it._**

I didn't get anything.

I got ignored.

Which was 2938 times worse,

because then,

I didn't know what

Emily was thinking.

When she didn't say one

word to me, I panicked.

Worst case scenarios,

permanent hate.

At least if I got yelled at,

I would know what she was thinking

and I wouldn't feel stupid when

I said something, and she didn't reply.

I had texted her,

no response.

I had told her friend Jenna

to tell her I needed to speak to her.

No response from either of them.

I called once, and she declined it.

I tried to shake it off

but it bugged me the whole day.

I had been walking with Connor

from Biology when I saw her;

I quickly waved with a small smile.

She rolled her eyes and turned her

head, talking to her friend and

her blonde hair swaying in front of her face.

I was in deep shit.

**Later, sitting in Calculus,**

the class before my spare,

Jeremy turned to me.

_Bro. We're thinking of  
reaching the community center_

_when it's closed and going for  
a swim, you down?_

'Yeah, for sure. Who else is going? '

_You, me, Justin, Jacob,  
Alex, Raven. Aurora, Emily-_

My brain stopped processing  
names after hers.

Seeing her would make me feel sick.

I wouldn't be able to have fun.

_Something wrong man?_

'Nah, I just – don't you think  
Emily is acting weird today?'

Jeremy raised his eyebrow

and laughed loudly.

_**You**__ would notice. But _  
_I don't know, you tell me. _

_You spend every  
possible second together._

I gestured around as if too say  
'she's not here right now.'

This earned me a distressed  
sigh from Jeremy.

_Besides the classes' you  
don't have together._

_Which isn't much._  
_ But whatever dude,_

_don't sweat it. Just come.  
There's gonna be more_

_than just you two there._

I nodded, looked back down  
at my paper, and began to 'sweat it.'

**Have you ever asked yourself the question, **

'Why did I do that?' Did it ever cross your mind? The vows you made, and swore, things you'd never do, since when does your mind have the right to go against those promises, and convince you to do it anyways? While you're sitting there hiccupping with fear because you, somewhere in-between your ears, you are self aware and know what you're doing, but the working part of your brain seems to be somewhere else, not paying attention to the foolish actions you are proceeding with. So what happens then? You continue, of course, and then when you're finished you ask yourself that question. Does it make anything better? Nah. You know it won't, but you stupidly question yourself anyways. You interrogate yourself to the point of frustration and pain, trying to convince your mind that your actions were realistic and correct, when really you know they're not_**. **_I confused myself just thinking about it. My hands were thumping my thigh rather roughly when Jeremy stopped my drumming with his hand and looked at me with confusion.

_Feel free to sit here  
all class and beat yourself up. _

He jabbed his finger  
towards my hand, red and hot

from severely beating  
my own leg self consciously.

'Oh. Right. Did the bell go?'

_About 10 minutes ago,  
I figured I'd go to the washroom_

_then come back and see  
if you were still injuring yourself.  
_

I laughed and gathered my  
books together, slinging my

backpack over my shoulder  
and pushing the chair in.

'We leaving now?'

Jeremy nodded and hurried  
me out the door. We took

a detour at my locker so  
I could dump the extra weight.

_No homework?  
_

He seemed to look at me  
with awe, as if a light had

shone over my head and  
I had grown a double d sized chest.

'Doesn't mean I don't have  
homework. Means I'm not going to do it. '

Jeremy considered this  
and his eyebrows furrowed together.

_Right, 'because you're white,  
and I'm Chinese. I get a B _

_and it's suddenly world  
war 3, I wonder what would happen _

_if I decided to just not do my work! _

He stomped off dramatically;  
chin up in the air and creating

a quite tasteful scene.  
I laughed as I closed my locker and  
jogged after the angry Asian.


	4. Abigail 2

Abigail

**The cold,**

T-

he  
metal.

The comfort-  
ing hiss slowly  
annihilates craves  
for more. The anticipation  
of relief, an appetite for the pulsing  
red. The crimson flow of satin like rivers,  
emanating from the one thing keeping me  
from falling apart. To flood the pearly porcelain  
with the blood of Satan, the arousing sound of droplets,  
explodes on the hard, glistening surface with ferocity. Breathing  
hitching slowly settling into a sigh of satisfaction. The rush of ruby  
red diamonds spills up and over. Spills life. But the picture is not complete.  
A few more rivers, and lines and pictures, until the realm of reality retreats;  
my body has begun to tingle. I am treading in molasses. Fighting to conquer  
the dark, thick, road block in my way. It seems to have curtained around me  
, the severity of my actions is worse than ever before. I have hit rock bottom,  
and am drowning in red. My body is undergoing intense demolition  
as it fights to rise above this hostile pool, before it floods my  
head and I go under. I begin to feel as though a  
thick tarp is thrown over my head

and I am not strong enough to tread any longer.  
I can not subdue this going under is unavoidable;  
I have been fully emerged under and am  
slowly suffocating. It is the end of my show  
, a velvet curtain drops, and the stage is  
black.

**Fuck. **

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I didn't mean-_Fuck._

I've really done it now,

haven't I? I've only been

here once before, and it

landed me in 8 months of

therapy after a scary trip

to the hospital. Fuck.

I push myself lower down

towards my body. It is an

eerie picture, I am detached,

after bleeding so much I had

passed out. It is slightly

patronizing, watching my

lifeless body slowly marinate

in the large puddle of blood

composing under my lifeless

structure. I cock my head

to the side as the door

downstairs slams shut.

Great. Mum's home. I

know that if I'm caught

in this state once again

I'll get more than therapy.

I fly down with what little

energy I have. Earnestly

trying to slam myself back

into my broken body. Once,

and I rise back up,

still hovering over myself.

_Abigail! Are you home?_

Her voice gives me the

motivation and even more

energy. I press my back

against the ceiling of the

bathroom and use an

extreme amount of effort

to force myself down onto

my figure and merge my

soul with its host.

Fuck. Twice, and I'm

still not in one piece.

I feel so ridiculously

Incompetent. I just nee-

_Abigail? Are you in there?_

My eyes dart to the door

handle jiggling around.

I place myself down in

one swift motion,

trying more of a gentle

approach. I black out

for a few moments.

I feel my eyelids flutter

open. Yes. _My_ eyelids.

I survey the room and lift

my victimized arm up.

I examine the damage.

The doors handle shakes.

Shit, right. 'Y-yeah! Mum!

I'm fine. Sorry. I'm really-'

_Jesus Christ, what_

_Took you so long to_

_Answer me? What're?_

_You doing in there? _

'I cut myself shaving. It's

small, just cleaning up.

I'll be right out in a second,

want to make us some tea?'

This perks her right up,

I notice the difference

of colour in her tone.

_Oh yes! Dear, that sounds_

_marvelous. I didn't know_

_you still liked tea, it's been_

_so long. Good thing I picked_

_up some macaroons today- _

I drown out her babbling as

the cool running water of

the tap grasps all of my

attention. Goosebumps crawl

up my arm, as it begins to

tingle. The blood washes off

quite easily, though the cut is

deep and still bleeding. I sway

back and forth trying to

regain proper consciousness

and recover from the adrenaline

rush I recently endured.

I instruct my weak limbs to

bandage up my battle wound

tightly and I lazily swirl a black

towel around on the white tiles.

I huff and puff at the mess.

Reaching for the bleach under

the counter with my good arm.

It takes me a good 20 minutes,

to clean up the bloody

mess with no mop and

one functioning arm. I set

aside all evidence of my recent

incident. Throwing on a long

sleeved hoodie and head

downstairs, My mother looks

almost _too_ excited when I sit

down at the table. Thankfully she

was too wrapped up to

notice just how long it took

me to fix a 'small cut'.

_Ohh dear I made your _

_old favourite! Chai tea!_

She's almost shaking with

excitement as she reaches

the table with 2 antique tea

cups, neatly placed on

their matching saucers.

There is a plate of macaroons

Under a doily. It's been so long since I've actually

sat down with my mum.

With either of my parents

actually. It's been 2 years

but none of us are quite

back to our normal selves

just yet. Though we try.

Like right now, we're

finally trying to move on,

let go. Get on with our

lives. Though I'm a hypocrite

to complain about letting go.

But this just might be the

first step. The thought almost  
makes me laugh, I'm no where

near any kind of 'recovery'.  
I'm more damaged than  
ever, with the presence of an  
insensitive, cynical mother.

_Ah, these were_

_always Tyler's favourites'._

The name sends a deep  
shiver down my spine as  
anger rapidly takes over me.

I want to smack the stupid

macaroon out of her hand  
and slap that pathetic

smile off her face. I

loudly pick up my tea

cup and slam it back

down onto its saucer.

She looks up at me,

perplexed.

'Are you

fucking kidding me?'

She knows we're not

at that point yet. Hell,

I don't know if we ever  
will be.

But for now,

reminiscing and thinking

about his previous existence

doesn't bring anything but

painful memories.

Which in time will

dull down. But there

clearly hasn't been

enough time. We've

got to wait, be patient,

but not my fucking mother,

she just has to jump into

things when nobody is ready

without a second thought  
or considering how it might  
make anyone else feel.

_Excuse me Abigail?_

We sit in silence for

a few seconds, just

staring at each other.

I have always wondered

If she knew what she was

doing and just how wrong

and selfish it is. Obviously

she has needed a lot less

time than anybody else in

this house to grieve her

sons death. The thought

makes me feel sick, disgusted.

The thought of _her_ does the same.

She wears a look of confusion

and shock. I've never spoken

that way too anybody, never

mind my parents, in that

way before. I move

my chair from it's place,

pick up a macaroon

and drop it onto the

floor, not even pausing

once to look at her face.

I turn on my heel, push

the chair in and casually

walk towards the staircase.

Keeping my eyes on each step

before me, I start up the stairs

focusing painfully hard

on not crying, waiting  
until I reach my room

and then tears begin to fall.


	5. Emily 2

Emily

**I gave myself a headache just thinking about**

how to put my clothes away.  
If I just stuff

them into drawers  
I might look a bit angry,

and they might think  
I have anger management  
issues, but if I fold them  
neatly and gently

and place them into the drawers  
I might look fucking

nuts because really,  
what teenager does _that_?

I don't realize just how  
long I have been thinking  
about this until someone says,

_You know, this isn't Hogwarts  
the clothing won't  
fold itself if you stare  
at it long enough. _

This breaks my trance and

my eyes dart towards the door.  
It is a

Patient. Male, to be exact.  
He is being guided by a nurse.

Looks about my age,  
and sane enough.

I wonder what is wrong with him,  
as he's nudged

forward and away  
from my doorway. I am too

shocked to respond to his  
witty comment. But

if he noticed, that means  
the nurse probably did too,

and staring at them in awe and

not moving/breathing/responding,

probably isn't the most  
_normal_thing a person could do

either. So I decide to settle with

looking slightly angry and a little nuts.

I fold my clothes, not neatly  
I might add, and shove them

into random drawers.

It doesn't take me too long and when I

finish, I smile and rest  
my hands on my hips, content

with my accomplishment.

_Excuse me, Emily? Dr. Alcona is ready to see you now. _

I look up to see a different nurse with a clipboard.

He smiles genuinely and I wait for him to withdraw from my room.

I bestow my focus onto my suitcase, so he can retreat and leave

me in peace. But he doesn't. In my peripheral vision I

can see him standing there, slightly amused and, waiting.

_Oh, Emily. You don't think you can go alone do you?_

'Well yeah, I thought I could, I'm not physically disabled.

I can walk.' He smirks at my sassy comment, jotting notes down.

_Things are very different here Miss Rylee._

Oh yeah, I wanted to say, I've noticed. I nod and walk towards

him, he closes the door behind us and puts his arm behind me,

in that lingering way, directing me. The same as that boy from before and

his nurse. I assume we had reached our destination because he

stops suddenly and his knuckles rap the heavy wooden door.

The door swings open moments later and a too happy face

Is beaming at me.

My heart drops into my stomach. I don't like this synthetic,

fake happiness, bullshit they are all parading around this place with,

as though it is some sick trend. _Hello, Emily._ The voice matches

the face, unhealthily happy.

.

**She is kind of a scary lady, **

she looks as though she has had one too many

Botox injections but isn't fooling anyone

of her age with her dark gray roots. I stutter a

'Hello,' back. She smiles again and I resist the

urge to slap her. _Well, come on in. Thank you so_

_much James,_ _please send Paige back to retrieve _

_Emily for dinner_ _in 20 minutes. _Retrieve? What am I?

A dog? Her words make my stomach twist and churn

uncomfortably. I keep my mouth shut though, pretty

little Emily needs to be a good girl so they can see that

this was a mistake and I don't belong in a place

like this. _So, Emily, have a seat my dear. How are_

_you finding it? Like your room? _I almost laugh at her

questions. 'My room? Well, it's not much of a room

is it? It's a bed in the middle of a white cave.'

She begins to nod apologetically before she answers.

_Well you must understand why, my dear._

I squint at her, my head feels so

empty without anon and I have just become

aware of how weird it is to think

without two voices bouncing around up there.

'Yeah, I guess. At least I get my own bathroom,

didn't have that at home.' This earns me a laugh

from the scary woman. I force a small smile in return.

I want to get on her good side, right?

If I want to get out of this loonie bin, arguing

and fighting against the authority sure isn't

going to work. _I'm glad you can look at_

_it that way as well. But we do have to talk_

_about the serious side of this too you know._

_Do you know why you are here, Emily? _

I draw back into my seat a little and sink into aslouch,

my newfound confidence seems to disintegrate.

I feel the cool, absence of anon's heat disappear and

It's harsh voice began to murmur incoherent words.

'I-I' It buzzes around my skull, certain phrases louder

and clearer than the rest. They say terrible things,

disgusting instructions, specific and step by step.

**Lean across the desk, and rip a strand of her **

**hair out. Tell that stupid cunt to fuck off and**

**that you aren't going to tell her anything. We're**

**going to play this the dirty way. **

I guess my face has contorted with change, my current

emotions on display for my evaluator to see.

Fuck you anon; I whisper back, we both need

to get out of here, you need to let me take control.

I murmur words back to anon, trying

to keep my composure on the outside while world war III

goes at it in my head. I just try to look

as though I am deep in thought, she

doesn't buy it. _Is something wrong, Emily?_

There is a hint of sarcasm in her voice

though she tries to mask it with concern

and worry. 'I'm fine.' I manage to spit out,

anon seems to hush down and let me take

the reins for a little. _Well answer my question_

_then please. _I wrack my brain for recent

memory of a question coming from her poisonous

lips. Oh, right. 'Yes, I do know why. But I do not

believe that this is the place for me.' Dr. Alcona stares

at me with snake-like eyes. Surveying their prey before

going in for the kill. I feel as though she has wrapped her

tail around my neck and is slowly suffocating me. She leans

forward and taps her fingers onto the desk. Loud and menacing.

_And why do you think that? _I think I see her smirk,

but she cleanly covers it up with a straight, serious

look. _I am not trying to scare you Emily, I really _

_want to know why you think you don't belong in_

_a place like this. _Her words begin to anger me

and I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

the words I know she wants to hear me say,

'Because I'm not crazy.' She stops tapping.

**She continues to stare with determination,**

what she is determined to do?

I can't tell you. I don't know.

'I acted on an impulse. I didn't

mean to take things that far.'

She weighs this answer in her

head, thinking of a smart response.  
Well, she always has a smart response.  
Anon starts to heat up again, angry

with my previous humiliation. I cool  
it down, driven to make a come back.

_You swallowed nearly 90  
capsules Emily,you must've  
known the consequences .  
We aren't here to scare you, or  
make you worse. We are here to _

_help you get through this rough time._  
_The more you tell me, the faster we  
can help you out get of here. Now,  
who were you talking to before  
you took all those pills?_

This question makes my whole

body shiver. I never thought

of an excuse or alibi because

I didn't think anyone would

have remembered. But count

on my dear, caring mother

to remember every single

detail about that day.

I know I did. It was a windy

day. Summer had come to

an end and it was the beginning

of fall. September 17th, 2011.

The leaves were colours of

earthy browns and pumpkin

oranges, swirling around in

small hurricanes all around

my front lawn. The smell of

soil and organic nature had

been lingering outside for

quite some time. It was calm

weather, the kind of weather

where you grab a book, some

tea and sit outside to ease any

stress or frustrations in your life.

She was downstairs while I

was taking the pills. Anon

and I had got gotten into a

heated argument to the point

where I began to yell aloud.

My mother was good at

her job. She decided to

give me some space and

privacy to sort it out. Thinking

I was just having a simple

argument with a friend from

school. Why would she think

anything else of it? Sweet,

innocent perfect Emily was

slowly going insane and

hearing voices?

No that wouldn't

have crossed her mind.

It's not exactly a thought that

just stumbles on through.  
But when my body couldn't

handle the toxic levels of

Tylenol in my system, I

passed out and knocked down

several trophies perched on

my book shelf. Like any other

concerned parent she

rushed upstairs to see

her daughters' lifeless body

sprawled on the carpet

and several bottles

scattered close by.

Naturally, I had expected

her to forget about the

yelling. So now, as Dr.

Alcona questions me

I decide to let anon through

a bit to give me a good

explanation for the snake.

**My boyfriend.**  
I think about it quickly,

a secret boyfriend? Will she

buy that? I really don't

have any other choice. So I speak  
the words as casually as I can.

'My boyfriend.'

This doesn't faze her  
at all. She is expecting some bullshit

excuse. She stares at me

for a few moments before

sighing, seemingly giving up.

_Okay Emily, you've won this time,_

_We're going to have a chat  
very soon and I hope by then  
you realize just how important  
the truth is here. Goodbye now. _

I take this as a dismissal

and get up out of my chair

unsteadily. Paige rushes in

at exactly the right moment and

takes me out into the hallway.


End file.
